


Home

by LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife



Series: A New Start [9]
Category: Belgravia (TV)
Genre: 1840s London, Belonging, Class Differences, Friendship, Gen, Home, Redemption, Servants, Serving Classes, Swearing, Victorian Philanthropy, a weight lifted from his shoulders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28657029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife/pseuds/LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife
Summary: Mr Turton learns where Lady Morgan is spending all her time. He also receives a surprise that takes a great deal of processing...-A plan to boost his meagre pension fund and to give him a comfortable life after retirement has all gone terribly wrong for charismatic butler Turton! He's been given the old 'heave ho', kicked out on his ear with only the most basic of references. What is he going to do next?The lone wolf that is Amos Turton has to start all over again. Learning how to fit into this new, weird household is tricky when you're used to following your own rules. Within the confines of the rigid Victorian class system of course. Well, mostly... He's keeping quiet, biding his time and thinking of the money and his pension pot!Victorian London is really not a kind place for the serving classes and definitely not a good place to be destitute and poor. Which he is in danger of becoming...-Set in the Belgravia - TV Series and Book verse. All this takes place after episode 6 - the finale of the TV series - and after the book has finished.It is the early 1840s.-Alright Bambinos, please read and enjoy!
Series: A New Start [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014321
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Home

"Are you busy today. Mr Turton?"

"No more than usual, Ma'am," he replied as he continued with the usual business of tidying away the remains of that morning's breakfast from the dining table.

"I would very much appreciate it if you would accompany me to my newest project today. I could use your insight. If you can spare your time of course, that is...?" she asked.

"Of course, Ma'am. When do you wish to leave?" he asked. His hands hovered in mid-air at her query. He wasn’t really sure of what she was asking, but his natural instinct as a servant being questioned by their employer, was to say yes.

"Mr Jones said that he would have the carriage ready out front at ten."

He nodded, noting that it had just gone half past eight according to the mantle clock.

"I'll see you outside at five to ten then, Mr Turton," she got up to leave.

"Yes, Ma'am," he answered.

-

Mr Turton took the opportunity to speak to Mrs Brown in-between hurriedly tidying up after breakfast and waiting for the carriage to be ready. If anyone knew anything about this new project of Lady Morgan’s, she would. _The annoying woman knows bloody everything about everything!_ he thought.

"Well now, Mr Turton. You finally wants to know all about the Morgan family project?" she asked, looking up from what looked like another one of her glorious cakes. His mouth watered as he thought of it. _She is admittedly a particularly excellent cook_ _, even if her lewd comments and remarks do irritate me so bloody much!_

"Oh there's some cake and a freshly brewed pot of tea through there," she nodded with her head towards the servant’s dining room. "I'll just finish off in here, then I'll join you."

He nodded to her and went through, pouring himself, and her, a cup of tea. He helped himself to a generous slice of cake as he waited. _Delicious as always!_ His eyes closed as he finished.

"You'll be needing to have your trousers let out if you keeps eating so much cake, Mr Turton," she smiled as she caught him licking his fingers clean of cake crumbs. "Although it is good to see a man with a healthy appetite," she raised an eyebrow at him and leered.

Mr Turton harrumphed and frowned back at her, choosing not to indulge her with any answer. _That woman is the queen of bloody double meanings!_

"So… the Morgan family project, Mrs Brown?"

"Oh that," she sipped at her tea. "It's the construction and maintenance of several sets of almshouses dotted all over London. All for retired serving staff and their families. They're also offered to those who, because of poverty or injury, would end up in workhouses or God alone knows where. Homeless on the streets most likely!" she shook her head and he frowned at the injustice of it all.

"Her father, God rest his soul, set up a trust some fifty years ago, so I’ve been told, that funds all her Ladyship's charitable works. The almshouses seem to be her own personal project now. They was started by her father but have been added to and expanded on by herself," she continued. "I think poor Mrs Morgan carries on his legacy as it's something for her to happily remember 'im by," she sipped at her tea again to cover up her sniffing.

Mr Turton looked away, giving her some semblance of privacy. He checked his pocket watch, twenty to ten. Just enough time to quickly get changed into his own clothes and be ready waiting outside as planned. He stood.

"Thank you kindly for the cake and information, Mrs Brown. I'd best get going as I don’t want to be late," he nodded to her.

"Oh, don't be wearing your best shoes this morning Mr Turton!” she shouted after him. “Better wear some old boots for where you'll be headin' off to."

-

As he got changed into his brown suit, he thought more on what he learned from Mrs Brown just now, and on what he already knew.

She had inherited a whole slew of titles from her families long, upper-class lineage, but she seemed reluctant to use any of them, except when it could glean her some advantage for her works. To them, her staff, she was just ‘the Mistress’, or Ma’am. She had waved away his attempts at addressing her properly, as any Countess should be. This completely befuddled him. From his own personal experience, the upper classes clung to their titles like a toddler would to its favourite toy. And they would get equally as annoyed if you attempted to take that title away from them, as said toddler when any attempt was made to remove it of its toy!

She also didn’t hold any dances, dinner, or balls, which were the sole motivations for living for most upper-class ladies. He’d not seen her attend any since he’d started here. She seemed to throw all her time and energies into her works. And when she wasn’t away working there, she would rather spend her free time here at her home, seemingly preferring the company of her staff rather than her peers. He always knew when she was at home, as, when she was, it was always filled with the most delightful piano music. He’d often been pulled away from his work to turn the pages of music for her as she played. Not that he minded; what fool wouldn’t prefer listening to the beautiful music over polishing the damnable silver. She even made her own clothes instead of sending for seamstresses. He looked over at his neatly folded uniform, again noting the most excellent job she had done of altering it for him.

She relished her independence, never having re-married, and she didn’t seem to be too bothered about needing to either. There’d been no suitors since Lord Byerly. _Good riddance to that idiot,_ he thought. _And hopefully, there’d be no more of his like!_

She was a kind soul, who seemed to genuinely care for her staff. She hated calling them servants. And her attitude to them, and him, went against all his years of learning. It confused him completely. He’d often had to stop and pause to re-think his actions, just like when he was a junior footman. He was having to re-learn _everything_ in this household! But, strangely enough, that fact didn’t bother him. It actually made him feel more settled than he had ever been before.

He knew that she could easily afford all of her charitable works and probably more besides. He'd seen the letters from the banks and solicitors. Lady Morgan had recently asked for his help in looking over those and organising the filing of them. She'd cornered him in his office one morning and had given him a spare key for the old writing desk and bureau that resided upstairs in the library.

"You've done so marvelously well with taking charge of the household accounts, Mr Turton,” she beamed at him. “Now I feel that I would greatly benefit from your help with keeping a close check on the family income as well. Making sure that the solicitors and bank managers are up to nothing untoward. I'm sure that they aren't, but I think that it will not hurt to keep an eye on them will it?” she raised an eyebrow in query at him and he nodded in reply. “I don't really have the time, or skill, to do that,” she frowned and looked down briefly, before turning her face back up towards him. “So… I thought that you could check over them for me?". She offered him a small, hopefully smile, that pleaded with him for his help.

"Er… yes, Ma'am," was his shaky reply. _How can I refuse?_

"Excellent!” she let out a relieved breath, and her small smile grew into a wide, beaming one. “Also, the letters within my desk are a God-awful mess,” she frowned again, “I can never find anything!” she raised her hands in exasperation. “But I know that you'll be able to swiftly put everything to order there," she held out the spare key to him, her small expectant smile returning again. He was lost for words and just stared at the key for several seconds before she gently took one of his hands, uncurled the clenched fist, and placed the key onto his palm for him to continue to gaze at there instead.

"Thank you, Ma'am. It would be an honour, Ma'am." was the most he could manage, spoken quietly without taking his eyes from the key that lay in his hand before him.

Lady Morgan nodded and quietly backed out of his office, leaving him still staring at the key. He closed his hand over it, holding it within the jail of his fist and taking a few deep, calming breaths to settle the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. The last time he'd held such a key was when he'd used one to rifle through his previous employer's bureau, looking for letters to sell. It could so very easily have been him held in prison instead of the small key held within his hand's cage.

The numbers enclosed within the bank's letters for his Mistress were truly eye watering. She'd sold off the two country houses but had cannily held onto the estates and lands surrounding them so that there was still income from the farms and land there without the expense of running the large households. But the main income was from coal mines and factories up north. Each had model villages set out around them for the workers and was built along the lines of those founded by Robert Owen or Earl Fitzwilliam. Philanthropy really was part of the family remit.

But, all that knowledge had still not been enough to prepare him for what would happen later that day.

-

Across the river and a good half an hour's worth of a bumpy carriage ride later, they arrived in a muddy field to the south of London. _Still, at least I'm inside and not shivering outside in a roof seat as usual_ , he thought to himself as he was jostled from one side of the carriage to the other, trying to keep up the pleasantries of conversation with his Mistress who sat opposite him.

A few canvas huts were dotted around, one of which they had decamped into upon their arrival. Their feet were protected from the worst of the squelchy, soggy, water-logged earth by walking along and now standing on some sturdily built duckboards. Mrs Brown was correct about him not wearing his good shoes, but even his old hobnail boots were no match for the horrendous, cloying mud that made up most of the large field!

Mrs Morgan produced a large cardboard tube from the carpet bag that Mr Turton had carried in for her and withdrew a roll of paper. As she unfurled it over the large table in front of them, he saw that drawn upon it were architectural plans. He was used to seeing such plans in his employ with the Trenchards, Mr Trenchard being an architect himself. He could tell that they were neat, and professionally done, albeit not as detailed as the ones that Mr Trenchard himself made. He deduced that they were probably drawn up by a younger man, without the considerable years of experience that Mr Trenchard had. They used some stones, which she fished out from within the bag, as weights to prevent the plans from curling in upon themselves.

"I've had these plans drawn up, but I had to use a different architect than the one I usually employ as Mr Patterson, whom I trust greatly, has been taken ill," Mrs Morgan informed him as she smoothed the plans down flat, chasing some small wrinkles away. "Also, this is a site I've not visited before now. I wanted to have a good look around to see if the plans match what is here before going ahead with any construction. I asked you along today as I'd really like to garner your opinion about this site and the drawings. You seem to be so much more knowledgeable in these types of common sense things than I ever could be. Mr Turton!" she looked down at the plans again, fiddling with one of the corner stones. “I don’t really have anyone else that I could ask about this,” she added quietly, “so any help that you could give me would be most greatly appreciated.” She looked up at him, an expectant query in her raised eyebrow and shy smile.

He really didn't know what to say. Well, that was a lie. He did know what to say. He already had several suggestions lined up from his quick glance at the plans and from his observations on the muddy walk from the carriage to the tent. Those same ideas were ready to run full tilt from within his astute mind, but he was currently stunned into silence. His quiet, shocked state was partially because he, a lowly servant had _actually_ been asked to voice his own opinions. But it was mainly due to the fact that these voiced opinions on this, her Ladyship's important new project, would actually be _seriously_ taken into consideration.

This new, altered way of doing things was something he was steadily learning to be the norm from Mrs Morgan. She was asking for his opinion on many different subjects and more often now. He was quiet at first, unsure if some kind of trap was being set out for him. But as he got to know her better, he quickly realised that all her queries were entirely genuine. In all his days in service, he'd only been asked his opinion a few scant times. And never on such grandiose things as this. After all, adding one's own opinion on where to place the silver in a display cabinet was certainly a very different beast than being asked opinions that could affect the whole construction of a group of buildings.

The whole carefully constructed world order that he’d built up in his head over his years of employ were now slowly being crumbled away by his new Mistress. It was shocking to him, but also a revelation, and it meant that he had freedom of thought for once in his life. He was slowly learning to accept this new way of doing things. He was an old dog, that was true, but he still had it within himself to learn some new tricks.

Even with her ever-increasing reliance on his experience, he was still utterly shocked that she asked him, a mere servant, for advice on such an important project. So, he pondered carefully on his response. He hoped to make it worthy. He’d never had such a great level of responsibility thrust upon him before now.

"I think that you would do well to walk the site and see what the land is actually like, don't you think, Ma'am? To see if the plans match up with the reality that they've been placed upon?" he finally answered.

"Ah! I knew that you'd have a solution. Thank you, Mr Turton!" she exclaimed. "There's a ledger book within the bag and some pencils. Please feel free to start making some notes while I go and find some more appropriate footwear.” She left the tent to go and see what she could borrow from the workers who lived in the other tents on the land. He was left with his thoughts and his quiet perusal of the plans.

He let out a breath, still befuddled as to his employ abruptly being changed from a Butler to a what? Personal Assistant? Secretary? Aide? He distracted himself by digging within the carpet bag. He found a semi-blank ledger that was full of old notes and scribblings. He searched again and drew out a pencil. He used his pocketknife to sharpen it. Then he found a blank page and started to write...

-

They made several alterations to the plans as they walked. Mrs Morgan took notes as he talked, jotting all his ideas down in the old ledger.

Mr Turton suggested that they would do well to move certain buildings further away from the river and the exceptionally boggy areas there, instead incorporating that land into a park for the residents. In fact, Mr Turton suggested an overall increase in green spaces among the houses – little squares and small kitchen gardens for the residents to tend. She actively pressed him for any suggestions, telling him not to be self-conscious, even if any seemed silly or small sounding. In the end, she had more than enough for a lengthy letter to go back to the architect, incorporating orders for several amendments to be made before anything was actually built here on this site.

-

On the carriage ride back, they further discussed the day's work.

"You'll help me to draft the letter, Mr Turton? I wouldn't want to miss any of your ideas out by mistake," she asked him.

"Certainly, Ma'am," he'd replied.

"I think that I shall also need to look into developing some of your ideas on the existing sites," she said.

Mrs Morgan turned the subject of conversation from the present building site, to a different subject entirely. One that he certainly wasn't expecting or prepared for!

"I hope that you'll be pleased to know that all of my staff, including yourself, Mr Turton, will be offered places here. Or at any other of the sites in London of your choosing, rent free, upon your retirement. Given as thanks for your stay with me, for your loyalty, and for putting up with all of my many eccentric foibles," she announced. "But it's mostly given in return for the companionship and friendship you all provide me with."

He was utterly shocked! _How could she so blithely announce such a life changing statement like that without any bloody warning?_

Mr Turton said nothing much for the rest of the journey back, just politely answering the Lady's queries with silent nods or shakes of his head, pleading tiredness in answer to his curtness. He excused himself as soon as they returned and carried out his final checks of the house a little earlier than usual.

-

He'd brought a cup of tea and some bread and cheese to his room to consume, but when he'd sat on his bed to eat, he found that his appetite had fled. The tears that he'd been holding back since the return carriage ride finally breached their dam and flooded out. Large sobs racked his body. The only other time he'd cried like this was after his mother's death. But the tears this time were a mix of both happiness and relief, instead of those of overwhelming sorrow.

For the past twenty and more years he'd been scrimping and saving, trying to pull together enough money to retire comfortably upon in London. He'd even risked prison or transportation for that very thing. But now, one single act of kindness had meant that he didn't have to do that anymore. His worries and anxieties had vanished, dispersed like the morning mist before the bright glorious sun. Lady Morgan was that sunshine. He took a hankie out of his bedside cabinet and wiped his face dry. A great burdensome weight was lifted from his shoulders and was flung far away to sink without trace. He sipped at his lukewarm tea and nibbled at the hunk of bread as his appetite returned somewhat.

Another realisation had hit him, causing him to pause as he ate. He realised that he was entirely comfortable with his current situation. It was an odd one, to be sure, but nonetheless he was as contented as he had ever been, in this strange place, with his odd co-workers, and his unusual Mistress. They were all unorthodox companions, nothing like the textbook ones he’d worked with or for previously, but he felt like he fit in here. He’d not any blood kin left any more, but here, they felt strangely like family to him now. Hell, he’d even gone so far as to use his fists to defend them, _her_ , even though he thoroughly despised violence of any kind. This realisation stunned him like a hit from a heavy cudgel to the side of his head. He realised that he was finally, after all the years of searching since leaving his native Yorkshire, in a place he could happily call _home_.

**Author's Note:**

> Examples of Model Villages can be found here: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Model_village
> 
> Examples of Almshouses can be found here: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Almshouse


End file.
